


Take Me To Church

by MadamPuddifootsTeaShop



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamPuddifootsTeaShop/pseuds/MadamPuddifootsTeaShop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles that can be found on my Tumblr Rackhambonny. Rackham/Anne centric, with features of other characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forgive me?

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene from 1x04 after Anne Bonny storms off in anger over Jack’s lack of compassion towards Max.

'Ah, there you are.'

Jack came flaunting over to Anne, who was hunched away against a wall while managing a piece of wood with her knife. Jack had felt the urge to somehow make up for the little spat they’d had earlier, but knew all too well she needed an hour or two to herself before he’d bother her with apologies and false promises.

He hunched before her and moved his fingers on top of her knee, all over to her thigh in a playful manner — a flirtatious manner.

'I know just the way to make things right, darling,' he tried to persuade her in the smoothest voice he could muster.

He was dissapointed to see she didn’t bother to spare him a single glance. Jack sighed, knowing he wouldn’t get out of this with just sex. So instead of playing around, he affectionately caressed her thigh with his thumb, not even really aware of what he was doing. It just felt nice. Only then did she stop moving her knife and instead chose to look up at him. His irritation over her outburst from earlier in front of Noonan vanished as soon as he saw her gaze. There was still anger there, resentment even, but other than that she just looked sad.

'Oh love, if I'd have known — '

'You do know,' she interrupted even before he could finish his sentence. 'You know exactly how I feel about pigs forcing themselves onto women against their will.'

By now, her eyes were ablaze again, fury flaring in every single fiber within her being. Oh Jack did know, he knew all too well. And he shouldn’t have been so inconsiderate about her feelings, but the past few days had been aksing their toll. All he could think about was getting himself out of the mess, as Bonny would have no issue doing so, if only she didn’t so foolishly decide to stick with him. _Through thick and thin_ , they’d once promised, underneath the black night sky and in between bottles upon bottles of rum. He cursed her for her loyalty.

He moved the hand that had been loosely resting on her leg up to his face and tried to rub away the tiredness, sighing exasperately.

'Look, I'll see what I can do for the prostitue, okay?'

Anne wanted to scoff at the false promise, piling up on top of the many others he’d vowed to her. Instead she chose to just nod. Translated, Jack knew that meant she wasn’t entirely convinced, but she hadn’t written him off just yet either.

'Now let me try to make it up to you anyway,' he grinned, though the fatigue specked through to his signature smirk. Yet she couldn't help but return the grin, throwing the piece of wood and knife aside, tugging at his shirt and pulling him with her inside the tent they'd been sharing for the past few weeks. Falling onto the many pillows and blankets scatterd on the floor, he traced his kisses from her mouth to her neck, obliging her to moan his name. And with that, all her thoughts about Max dwindled into nothing more but Jack's hands moving all over her body.

She hadn’t forgiven him yet. But he was getting there.


	2. Crawling back to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and Jack try and work through their marital issues after Anne suspects he has slept with Max

Jack found himself a little lost as he looked for a free table to sit at and go through the brothel’s finances. Prostitutes were vigorously walking around, sweeping the floor and cleaning the tables while others occupied themselves with braiding flowers and little shells in each others hair. While the atmosphere that filled the place was uplifting, he didn’t feel like sharing company with really anyone at the moment. 

Vane’s unexpected visit the day before and the threats he’d thrown his and Anne’s way still echoed in his mind. On top of that, Anne hadn’t shown up at their room last night, and the tiny voice in his head hadn’t failed to plague his mind all night with worrysome scenarios of where she might be. All in all, he’d had a pretty sleepless night. 

He sighed deeply as he made his way over to an unoccupied table, dropping the binders and papers on the surface and plonking himself on the chair. As he tried to rub the sleep out of his face, he heard the chair next to him shift. He felt disgruntled because of the intruder, as he didn’t feel like chatting idly. All he wanted was some peace of mind. Still he looked up, only to be met with the angry face of his one and only. She silently slid into the chair, taking a sip of the bottle of rum she was holding in her right hand.

'Nice to see you're okay. I hope you've had a pleasant night, unlike me. Was up all night, wondering if you'd finally had enough of good ol' Jack and left with the first ship that set port this morning. Don't bother telling me where you decide to spend the night next time,' he rambled as he took a pencil and started doing some math in his notebook, fixating his eyes on anything but her.

Jack regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. Sure, he was angry at Anne, afraid even she’d finally really left him. He knew far too well he was the one expendable in this relationships, if push came to shove. But he was never one to go into ‘partner overload’, and he felt nauseous with the fact that he wanted to keep Anne in check, knowing fully well that putting a fence around her — trying to control her — only drove her further away. And still his stomach churned at the thought of the million things that could’ve gone differently from her returning to him again.

'Thought I might give you and the whore some space. After all, a warm bed is cozier than that tiny bad thub,' she shrugged nonchalantly. 

'I see we're still at that.' He continued scribbling, trying to suppress the anger he felt at her refuted accusations.

'I've seen her. Don't blame ya, the girl's pretty.'

At that, he stopped writing and threw the pencil in frustration, finally looking her in the eye, taking a pause to make sure she was listening.

'I followed you blindly — unwillingly — into the abyss, the night you dragged the crew and me with you to the wrecks. Do you really think I'd bother going after a whore?'

The muscles in her face didn’t crack an inch, yet he saw the tiniest flicker of doubt blinking in her eyes. Good, she needed some shaking. 

'Thought you knew me better than that, darling.' He moved his face away from hers again, leaving her to her own thoughts as he took his pencil again and continued counting the brothel's earnings from last week.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed her fidgeting — something so unlike her — and trying to peel off the etiquette of the bottle of rum. Satisfied with himself that he seemed to have gotten through that thick head of hers, he could finally focus on the numbers in his pages.

'The beach,' she uttered after a few moments of silence. Jack looked up, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion as to what she meant, urging her to clarify.

'I was at the beach,' she continued, finally looking at him. 'Had to clear my head.'

Suddenly his heart sank as he watched a nostalgic longing fill her eyes, her voice just barely cracking at the mention of the beach. Anne belonged at sea, and staying here in Nassau had only made her crankier with every passing day. Suddenly, all the anger he felt over her was replaced with sadness and sympathy. He lay his pencil down and reached out to caress her cheek softly. He rarely initiated physical contact, yet he couldn’t restrain himself from trying to lift what he could of the struggle she was feeling.

For a moment, she allowed him to linger there, only to shy away the moment she considered it becoming far too intimate to her liking. 

'I miss it too, in case you're wondering.' 

'Well, we better stop missing it. Our ambitions of one day having our own ship have gone down the drain.' She took another swig of the rum bitterly.

'Don't worry,' he flashed her a cocky grin that spoke of overconfidence. 'I'll figure something out. Besides, Vane is reaching for mountains he cannot climb. It'll only be a matter of time before he's crushed under the lovely miss Guthrie's dainty heels. He shouldn't have made the mistake of going against her.'

Anne snorted, thinking about how he was showering empty promises all over her again. Or rather, over the both of them. Yet she found some comfort in his words, some hope that one day, she’ll be standing next to him, steering their own ship and throwing commands at their own crew instead of following nicely in line behind a captain — the ultimate freedom.

'I'll drink to that,' she said as she drank some rum again, passing the bottle to Jack so he could have a drink as well. As he sipped from the bottle, he licked his lips seductively. While he felt like he wasn't the one to blame, he was more than willing to try and make it up to her.

She bit her lip, leaning forward and grabbing the hem of his shirt, dragging him as close to her as she could. Her mouth was inches from touching his as she grinned greedily: ‘You’re coming with me.’

'Gladly,' he laughed against her lips, trying to steal a kiss in the moment, but again she shied away, only playfully this time. Standing up, she moved for the stairs and it took Jack no hesitation to follow her; the bottle of rum, the brothel and Vane long forgotten.


	3. No matter the odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne develops the tendency to sneak out of bed and go to the beach to think. One night, Jack decides to follow her.

He clutched onto his torch and kept his hand steady on the knife attached to his belt, not entirely fond of leaving the brothel at such an ungodly hour. As he cautiously made his way to Nassau’s shores, he contemplated the many times Anne had crawled out of their bed lately, only to spend the night at the beach. And as always, he would fail to catch sleep, worrying about her whereabouts until right before sunrise, she’d creep into bed again. More than once, he’d asked her to procrastinate whatever it was that she was procrastinating about at the balcony of their room instead of going out into the night all on her own. It would spare her a lot of trouble, and him a lot of sleepless hours. But her usual reply would either be a shrug of her shoulders, or a defiant ‘you don’t own me, Jack!’. Tonight had been no exception, only Jack decided to actually go out and look for her instead of needlessly worrying all night long. Perchance a heart to heart was all she’d need. 

He came to a halt as he saw a lonely figure sitting in the sand, subconsciously becoming far less fearful now he knew he was within her presence. The closer he moved to her, the more relaxed his posture became. He noticed her hand moving to the hilt of her sword, fully aware someone was approaching her.

'No need for that, love. It's just me,' he reassured her before she'd aim that deadly sword of hers at him. Her tense shoulders relaxed the moment she recognized Jack's voice, her hand moving away from her weapon again. He plopped down onto a rock right next to where she was sitting, preferring not to stain the expensive fabric of his breeches. 

He tried to steal a glance, hoping he could read whatever was going on in her mind. But again, she concealed everything under the brim of her hat. So he looked out to the ocean instead, thinking of what to say. 

'I count myself lucky you prefer the company of the ocean instead of another lover's arms,' he confessed. 'With every night you don't stay with me, I grow more fearful that you've finally grown tired of good ol' Jack.' He smiled bitterly, surprised at the raw honesty that was coming out of him. He blamed the fatigue and late hour. 

'You're the one prancing with whores,' she accused sourly, which made him scoff humourlessly. 

'I thought we'd made it clear I have absolutely no interest in pursuing any woman that is not you, let alone a whore.' He'd lost count of how many times they'd had this discussion ever since he'd promoted Max to madame of the house, thinking such an action would please Anne as she'd so eagerly vouched for and eventually ensured Max' freedom. Clearly, it'd had the complete opposite effect, making Anne crankier with every single interaction he had with women that were not her. His train of thought was broken by her humourless laughter, making him move his head away from the ocean so he could look at her. 

'Look at us, Jack.' She looked up at him from underneath her hat. 'Amidst all of this shit, I'd hoped that at least the trust between us would still stand. I'm telling you, this soil is cursed. Look at the cunt and her whore. Didn't last very long either, did they?' 

Jack grew irritated, as she seemingly blamed him for the lack of trust between the two of them, while everything had been going down the drain the moment she’d decided to murder what was left of their crew. The assumption that their fate would be the same as that of Miss Guthrie and Max infuriated him.

'Yes, well feel free to leave 'this shit', as you so nicely put it, as I'm sure many ships will leave port tomorrow morning. And your name and fame will gain you a profitable spot in any crew you'd apply to. I know you've thought about it.' He leaned closer to her, intent on making her listen. 'Let's just not forget who put us into this shithole in the first place,' he remarked snidely. 

She threw a glare his way, angry at him for reminding her. ‘I fucking know what part I played in you falling into discredit with Vane. Don’t rub it in my face,’ she sneered, looking down again. 

Jack licked his lips, trying to suppress the guilt he felt welling up in the pit of his stomach. It was ironic, having come here intent on making things right again, only to fall into another needless fight with her. He placed the torch into the soil, falling onto his knees in the sand — no longer caring about his breeches — and dropping his head in her lap, kissing her thigh while his thumb carressed her knee. 

'I'm tired of our constant bickering, Anne,' he sighed. She brought her hands to his head, running her fingers through his hair. He could've easily fallen asleep to the movement of her fingers and sound of crashing waves, no matter how uncomfortably he was laying. 'Amongst all of my worries, you should be the one constant certainty. And lately, all my worries diminish when I think of the possibility of you leaving me behind in this godforsaken place.' 

'If I wanted to leave, I'd done it already. What makes you so certain I would?' 

Happy his eyes were on the ocean, he sought for the right words to answer her question. ‘Almost four years ago, I vowed we’d have our own ship within the year, and eternal life through the Fountain of Youth within the other, despite the controversy of its existence. And now here we stand, owners of a brothel. Our prospects have certainly lowered,’ he concluded. ‘I figured it would only be a matter of time before you’d decide to seek out better horizons than I have to offer.’

'And almost three years ago, I promised I'd stick through thick and thin with you, no matter the odds,' she countered, leaving him surprised she brought up that memory. 'Despite how drunk we were, that promise still stands to me.'

He moved away from her lap, looking at her in confusion. ‘So you feel obligated to stay with me?’ 

'The fuck, Jack? No one but myself is keeping me here.' As she watched how his confused frown didn't budge, her hard look softened. She reached out her hand hand, softly caressing his cheek, making his frown grow even bigger. Anne wasn't one for intimate displays of affection, and if one of them would initiate such contact, it would be Jack. His face made her laugh genuinely. 'I'm staying with you because I want to, you idiot,' she shrugged casually. 

'Oh.'

Bringing her other hand to his cheek as well, she lead his head towards hers, softly kissing him on the lips. 

'I love you,' he whispered when her lips lingered but an inch from his, recalling he couldn't remember how long ago he'd last said that to her. Perhaps she'd wanted to hear it from him, kissing him so affectionately instead of her usual hungry and passionate kisses. 

'Good,' she smiled contentedly. Removing her hat, she ran her hands through her tousled hair, making the beads and shells form a symphony to his ears. As she linked her arm through his, she lay her head on his shoulder. 

'Just five more minutes, and I'll come with you,' she slurred, tired herself. He leaned his head on top of hers, watching the soothing movement of the waves. 

'We can stay as long as you wish, darling.'


	4. You're a fool, Anne Bonny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Had a few offers, have you? Makes sense, you'd be an asset to any crew.’  
> A glance at Naussau’s captains’ many attempts to convince Anne Bonny to join their crew instead of lingering around with what remains of the Ranger crew, after Eleanor banished Vane. Set somewhere between episode III and episode V.

'I promise you, Miss Bonny, that this,' Captain Naft flaunted the bag of pearls in her face, attempting to stress the value it held. 'Is merely an advance of much more to come.' 

Anne Bonny crossed her arms in reply, a silent seal that there would be no convincing her. Captain Naft was the third captain and the twelfth man to have approached her over the past three days, offering her a spot on their crew. Most captains sent their lackey to try and negotiate with her, but as of lately Anne had the privilege to be asked by various captains themselves. She’d even heard Nassau’s buccaneers  whispering of the exciting new game among the big men of the island:  _Who’d get to convince Anne Bonny to join their crew._ The sums of money they were willing to pay her had gotten out of hand, she contemplated as she took in the bag of pearls worth at least 750 pesos, according to Naft.

'If you were to join my crew, of course,' he added meekly, as if it weren't obvious.

Anne rolled her eyes, unintentionally locking them with Rackham’s, who was leaning against the bar on the opposite end of Eleanor’s pub, holding a glass of wine. Momentarily blocking out the captain’s continued sweet talk, she focussed on Jack. He’d seemed startled when she noticed him eyeing her, but he didn’t seem bothered enough to look away. Anne knew that he knew far too well what topic she was discussing with Naft, as the look he threw their way seemed to lie somewhere between revulsion and utter worry. She wished he wouldn’t have had to see this. 

'Miss Bonny?' Naft forced her to interrupt the gaze she was sharing with Rackham. 

'What?' She asked in irritation, looking back distractedly at Rackham only to see he was looking away now, scoffing at himself humourlessly.  _He thinks I’m sold. How can he forget I’m no property?_

'I assure you, miss, there's plenty of time to think about it,'  he stuttered apologetically, clearly intimidated by her aggressive demeanor. 

'I already told you, I'm not interested.'

Ending their conversation, she took the bottle of rum that stood on the table she’d been leaning on and moved away, intent on clearing things out with Jack. 

'One more question, Miss Bonny.'

Her pride told her to pay him no heed, to march forward — she’d wasted enough time on him as it is — but her curiosity screamed at the top of its lungs, eager to know what Naft wanted to ask. Biting on the insides of her cheek, she turned around. 

'Why in the name of God stay with the Rangers? I can see why you're not interested in joining the Intrepid,' he laughed grimly. 'While I could certainly use a mercenary as skilled as you, I fear smuggling pieces of art is of no interest to you. But declining Hornigold's offer? Girl.' He chided softly as he leaned closer into her, as if they were conspiring together.

'A place at his fort and you wouldn't have to worry about a thing for the rest of your life.'

She despised him for making her doubt her decisions. Among all of the shit happening lately, she’d at least been sure of one thing — leaving Jack behind was out of the question. As for now. Because when push came to shove, even he wouldn’t be able to jeopardize her freedom. She threw him a nasty glare, already regretting she’d bothered to hear him out.

'You're not my captain, I don't have to answer to you,' she sneered, abruptly moving away from him. But before she could turn around, he interrupted her again. 

'Or is perhaps the quartermaster,' Naft mused as he fixated his eyes on something behind her. She knew he was looking at Rackham, and she felt her stomach sinking to the ground. 'Who refrains you from seeking out better prospects?'

She blinked, reconsidering her thoughts about Naft being one of the dafter ones on this island. It appeared he had a far more keen eye than she’d expected him to have. Placing her bottle on a nearby table, she lunged forward, grabbed him by the collar of his vest and pointed a tiny knife at his throat. All of it happened so subtly, so swiftly, not a single man in that tavern noticed what was going on.

 ’Is that a threat, Captain Naft?’ she smiled maniacally, enjoying this turn of events. 

'I… Miss Bonny, I just… I merely —' he stumbled over his words, fear darkening his eyes. 

'One knife pointed at Rackham, one word directed at him, one glance thrown his way, and I will find you, Captain Naft. And it won't be pleasant.' She pressed her knife closer to his skin, showing him how serious she was. Only after he managed to give a shaking nod, did she release his collar and hide her knife again. 

'You can be sure of that, Miss Bonny. God bless you,' he muttered as he scampered off. Satisfied, she grabbed her bottle of rum again and made her way to Jack. Subconsciously, she felt a rush of relief as she saw him unharmed, still standing at the bar. 

'How much did they offer now?' he asked her even before she'd reached the bar, sensing her presence. Moving forward, she saw he was focusing on the wine in his glass.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she shook her head, placing a hand on his wrist – a silent plead to look at her. ‘That much, was it?’ He grinned at her, obeying. Mirth sprinkled in his eyes, but the hurt failed to go unnoticed by Bonny’s eyes. She shrugged.

‘You’re a fool, Anne bonny.’ He wriggled his wrist free from her hold so he could take a sip from his wine, only to decide to down it in one gulp. Holding out his hand to call for the bartender’s attention, he ordered another one. ‘For a moment there, I thought he had you.’

‘They’re outbidding each other, as if I’m cattle to be sold at a market. I’m no property, Jack,’ she sneered. ‘And unless Davy fucking Jones himself descends from the heavens and offers me a place as quartermaster on his Flying Dutchman, you have nothing to worry about,’ she added playfully, trying to lift all of his doubts. She preferred him far much when he was confident.

She did manage to make him laugh genuinely, which filled her with joy. He reached for her hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the palm of her hand.

‘Now that would be an adventure, wouldn’t it?’ he grinned as he placed her hand on the side of his cheek, momentarily not minding whoever saw the intimacy between the pair. And for a moment, she saw him dozing off, probably thinking of prospects that reached far beyond Nassau. She couldn’t wait to ask him about his thoughts, once they were in the privacy of their own tent.

‘So that’s cleared out?’ she shook him out of his reveries by running her thumb across his cheek. He nodded absent-mindedly, and Anne knew he’d be convinced for now. And ‘for now’ was all she needed.


	5. What happened doesn't change anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble based on the prompt 'what happened doesn't change anything'.

Jack woke up from his sleep only to find his legs completely tangled in the covers, which at one point during the night had been messily cast aside. The island’s tropical weather made it hard to catch sleep again, and he cursed inwardly. The humidity hung in the entire room and clung to his skin.

'Anne?' he sighed groggily as he turned around, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness and search for her presence. His heart made a jump when he noticed her side of the bed was empty, and the worry that suddenly took hold of him kicked out what little of his tiredness had remained.

The uneasiness only lasted for a heartbeat. Landing his eyes on the French door of the bedroom, he found her tiny frame, huddled on the balcony. He contemplated whether or not to go back to sleep, but concluded he’d be getting no more rest than a sinner in church. Getting out of bed, he made his way over to the balcony. Upon hearing the sound of crashing waves combined with the tiny crickets singing their song and the rustle of the palm trees’ leafs, Jack suddenly understood why Anne had sought out the solace this night could bring.

He noticed she was cluttered in her loose messy shirt, yet she hadn’t bothered to throw on any breeches. She’d drawn up her legs and was resting her head on top of her knee. Her hair obscuring her face made it impossible for him to read what she was thinking.

As she’d heard him coming, she didn’t flinch when he settled down behind her, hoping she wouldn’t mind sharing the view and her thoughts with him. But as he joined her in that noisy silence, he found his every intention to have a chat with her fading away, seemingly at a loss of the right words to voice what was on his mind. Instead he moved her hair out of the way and, in an attempt to ease her troubled mind, brought his lips to her bare shoulder, tracing his kisses all the way up to her neck, where he was met with the ending of a scar. It was what remained of a large and deep cut that reached from the side of her throat to just barely the back of her neck. All courtesy of an exchange gone wrong and a captain gone rampant, a week or three ago, which had nearly cost her her life. And with that, he’d found himself in church for the first time in all his years, thanking any and every god out there that, while he wasn’t very skilled in combat, he’d at least bothered to learn how to aim a pistol. His shot had saved her life. The knife pressed to her neck was an image that hadn’t failed to haunt him every single night since it happened.

It wasn’t long until she wriggled herself free from his touch, clearly uncomfortable with the contact. It didn’t surprise him as much as it hurt. Physical contact has been an issue for Anne ever since the incident, and Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on why that was. He trusted she knew he would never deliberately hurt her in any way. As she shied away from him, eyes set on the ocean instead of him once again, he noticed how dependent he had become on her. He couldn’t afford to lose her — not anymore. The bastard that had threatened her, had made Jack very aware of that fact. Her troubles had become just as much his, and for the sake of a well-rested mind, he wanted them solved.

'Do I frighten you, darling?' The question sounded anything but accusatory, it was merely inquiring, resonating every of his intentions to find a solution if him frightening her was the issue.

She scoffed at his question, shaking her head. ‘No, not at all,’ she said oh so silently, momentarily humoured by the idea that someone like Jack would frighten her. As she looked up at him, he noticed the tiny spark of mirth illuminating her eyes, making him wonder what had so suddenly changed her mood. But before he could ask her, the spark dropped and sadness coloured her eyes instead.

'Then why so wary, love?' As of lately I can hardly touch you without you flinching, he wanted to add, but decided not to push it.

'Bruised and battered. Not exactly a state any man prefers a woman to be in,' she shrugged, bringing her hand to cover the gash as if wanting to hide it from him. It suddenly all clicked inside of Rackham's mind, and while he certainly hadn't expected Anne Bonny of all women to be conscious about the way she looked, he still didn't want her to feel unwanted. Unloved.

'It's silly, really,' she hastily tried to dismiss what she'd just confessed to him. He covered her tiny hand with his and lead it away from the scar that graced her neck.

'Hey,' he silently urged her to look at him. 'What happened, doesn't change anything. You know this, you must know this.'

He saw the resignation in her eyes — ever so stubborn to believe what he was saying was the truth. He decided he still had time to make her believe otherwise — that he does want her, no matter her state. So he looked out at the ocean and as to tune in with the chirping crickets, he started singing a shanty.

'A man may drink, and not be drunk,' he started, admittedly quite out of tune. He noticed Anne rolling her eyes; she liked to claim she hated his shanties, but he knew she secretly loved it whenever he decided to sing a verse or two out of nowhere. 'A man may fight and not be slain,' he continued, managing to bring the ghost of a smile on her face.

'A man may court,' he sang as he brought his hand up to her cheek and stroked her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. 'A pretty girl. And perhaps be welcomed back again.'

She shook her head incredulously, smiling, but she would never admit how much it warmed her heart.

He wanted to start singing the next verse, but before another syllable could escape his mouth, Anne cut him off with a kiss. It was an eager one, filled with passion as if trying to make up for the lack thereof in the past few weeks, taking Jack completely by surprise. He moved closer to her, taking her in as much as he could, eager to grasp whatever intimate contact she was willing to give him. But then she broke the kiss and looked at him mischievously.

'You have no voice for shanties, Jack,' she tried to stifle a chuckle.

'Keep telling yourself that, darling,' he smirked in return, happy at least some of their worries were now replaced with laughter.


	6. I’m gonna be sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble inspired by the prompt 'I’m gonna be sick'. Max/Billy centric with some Max/Eleanor.   
> Set during episode III, after Eleanor chooses Nassau over Max, causing them to part. Billy and Max centric (more brotp than romantically, really), to shake things up a bit. :) And there’s a little bit of (angst) Maxanor thrown in there as well. Max and Billy are kind of the two cutie patooties of the show, and the height difference alone is reason enough for me to want them interacting.

Billy Bones was not amused when he entered the brothel at two in the afternoon, as he was ordered to do. Flint’s recent shenanigans were giving him headaches of which the likes he’d never had to endure before. On top of that, Gates was prancing on the tip of his toes, desperately trying, and failing, to steer Flint in the right direction. And then there was the entire hassle with the lost schedule, which had seemed to be blowing from one captain to another, only to have finally landed in the hands of Miss Guthrie’s little dove.

His eyebrows scrunched together as he overlooked the brothel, searching for said person. Surprisingly, he found her tiny frame over at the bar, hunched over a cup of wine. He didn’t know Max personally, nor was he acquainted with Miss Guthrie in any way. But he had been witness of the tragic exchange earlier today, when Miss Guthrie forced Max to tell her about the whereabouts of the schedule, in order to execute Flint’s mad plans. As he watched her from afar, he couldn’t stop the guilt kicking in, churning his insides. I’m not the one to blame, he assured himself as he reluctantly made his way over to the prostitute.

‘So we intercept Max’ contact at sun dawn, simple as that. Billy, you’ll be coming with me,’ Flint ordered. Billy nodded, but gave Gates a suspicious look when his captain looked away. They were gathered at Miss Guthrie’s office, briefly discussing how they would go the wrecks later that day. After concluding that Vane would be dealt with through improvisation, Flint moved to leave the room, followed by Gates and then by Billy. Only Billy was stopped by a hand gently tugging at his arm. 

‘Billy, right?’ Miss Guthrie asked him wearily. He’d noticed she hadn’t been paying all that much attention, probably plagued by the fight she’d had with her lover earlier.

‘Yes, miss,’ he replied politely, looking away when he noticed her eyes had started glistening.

‘I promised Max I’d have some guards looking out for her, in case Vane –’ Her voice died out, rather not contemplating what Vane would be capable of doing because of Max’ so-called betrayal. She shook her head, mentally shaking away the images. ‘Anyway, my men aren’t free until tonight. I’d hoped you could keep an eye out for her? I’ll pay of course.’

She fiddled with the tiny satchel attached to her belt, which he presumed contained the money she was willing to pay him. But before she could give it to him, he pushed her hand away.

‘No need for that, miss. I’ll make sure nothing happens to her.’ He blurted it out before he knew what he was saying, instantly regretting his promise.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled sadly and moved away from him, pouring herself a drink which he considered his cue to leave.

‘Max?’ She looked up from her glass at the mention of her name, and Billy suddenly found himself bothered by the sight of her stained cheeks, the guilt sinking in deeper than before. She quickly wiped away a tear or two before looking back at him.

‘Can I help you?’ Billy hadn’t really thought through what he would say to her, but figured reminding her of Miss Guthrie might just not be the most tactful approach.

‘I don’t know if you remember, but I was there this morning, with Captain Flint and –’

‘Sacre bleu,’ she looked away, scrunching together her face as if she was disgusted by his presence. He frowned, thinking this approach might not have been the best either. ‘Je pourrai t’aimer comme la colique!’

Billy’s frown deepened at that, not entirely sure whether or not she’d just insulted him. He opened his mouth to try and reply with a witty remark, but considered he’d merely make a fool of himself, so he shut his mouth and leaned on the bar instead, standing right next to the bar stool Max was sitting on. And still, she was at least two heads shorter than him, he noted. She threw a nasty glare his way, telling him she was certainly not pleased with his company. He didn’t blame her, he was after all indirectly a part of the reason she’d had a fight with Miss Guthrie in the first place.

‘I’m Billy, by the way,’ he smirked happily, completely ignoring her frown. When it failed to push him away, she rolled her eyes and downed her glass in one tug.

‘Well, if you plan on staying, might as well buy me another drink,’ she snidely smirked back at him, and before he could protest, she’d already raised her hand to call for the bartender’s attention. ‘Two wines, chérie.’

The bartender happily obliged, refilling Max’ cup and bringing another one for Billy. He held out his hands, urging Billy to pay. Now it was his turn to frown at the conniving little girl. He’d underestimated her and wished he’d accepted Miss Guthrie’s coins, if this was what he’d have to deal with all afternoon.

‘There you go, mate,’ he smiled at the bartender. When he faced the prostitute again, she’d raised her glass for a toast.

‘To love,’ she said. ‘And all the blissful merde that comes with it.’

‘To love then,’ Billy shrugged, and clinked his glass to hers.

{ -x- }

‘It’s not possible,’ she said incredulously, the mirth resonating in her voice, her tiny palm resting on his broad shoulder. Several times, she’d attempted to lean her elbow on his shoulder, but the height difference had made it impossible. Several conversations and a wine or five later, they’d considerably warmed up to one another, all hostility drowned out by the liquor.

‘So you have never loved a girl? Or a boy?’ she added, not entirely certain what he preferred romantically.

‘Well, there’s Mr. Gates, of course. But he’s like –’ he looked at her and was met with a tiny pout and a frown, not entirely grasping the situation. Surely the alcohol had seen to that. Billy was a big man and he already felt a little muzzy in the head. With her tiny body, she probably felt ten times worse. ‘He’s like a father to me, really,’ he shrugged.

‘Now the sea. That I do love, with all my heart,’ he concluded soppily, nodding as if trying to reassure himself of this certainty.

‘But Billy,’ she smiled at him, shaking her head. ‘The sea does not care for you. It will not hold you when you feel sad, or kiss you where you’ve bruised yourself. It cannot love you back.’

And with that, her joyful expression fell into one of distress, as did Billy’s in return. He hadn’t failed to notice her last words were the same she’d yelled at Miss Guthrie just this morning. She scoffed, and the entire mood they’d found themselves in had disappeared with it.

‘How ironic. No matter the distractions, whether it be alcohol, or a friend,’ she looked up at him, smiling sadly. ‘My thoughts always run to her.’

Moving her tiny hand away from his shoulder, she rubbed her temples, probably sobering up and on the verge of getting a headache.

‘I’m gonna be sick,’ she mumbled, trying to get off the stool, but in her liquored state almost tumbling down if it weren’t for Billy’s arms catching her and making sure she was supported.

‘I’ll get you to your room,’ he said, leading her away to the stairs.

‘Oi, Bones. You’re gonna pay for that!’ He heard Noonan boost for the entire brothel, and as Billy looked over his shoulder, he saw the customers laughing along. ‘And remember, she’s Eleanor’s privilege, so no fucking, boy.’

Rolling his eyes, he ignored the arrogant inn keeper and instead led Max to her room. Once he brought her in, he immediately closed the doors, blocking out all of the noise going on downstairs. He brought her over to her bed, making her sit down on the side of the bed. Kneeling down in front of her to make sure she was okay, he noticed she’d started crying. A sudden panic overtook him, as he certainly had no idea how to comfort a distressed woman.

‘I’ll just –’ He got up and frantically began searching the room for a bucket, in case she really got ill. Accidentally knocking over some stuff, didn’t entirely help the awkward silence minus the occasional sniffing on Max’ part. He found a bowl which would do, he thought, and brought it over to Max. She took it from him with a silent ‘thank you’, crossed her legs on the bed and put the bowl on top of her legs, encasing it within her arms. Not entirely sure what to do next – he still was supposed to look out for her until Miss Guthrie’s men came – he sat down next to her, the bed shifting under his weight. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and rubbing his fingers together nervously. Sure, he’d frequented brothels before, but he wasn’t frequenting Max as a prostitute. He’d never really been all that smooth around ladies – never really bothered, either.

‘So,’ he coughed, trying to break the silence. But before he could start any idle chatter, she interrupted him already.

‘I’m not staying here.’ His head jerked her way, frowning at what she just said. If she ran away while he was on watch, he didn’t want to know what Miss Guthrie would do to him. She’d probably skin him alive – he’d heard the stories.

‘You can’t leave.’ He shook his head, but she didn’t seem to hear him. He placed his hand on her wrist, hoping she’d notice he was talking to her. ‘It’s dangerous – you never know what Captain Vane might do, and he’s out there, Max! And Miss Guthrie is the only one who can protect you.’

‘I don’t care about Captain Vane, and I’m sure no one else cares about what happens to me. Not anymore.’

‘I care, Max.’ He frowned, not entirely sure where that came from. But suddenly his fear for Max’ safety completely replaced his fear for Miss Guthrie’s potential wrath if she were to escape. She looked up at him, still a head or two shorter than him, and gave him a warm smile.

‘So no running off, okay?’ he asked her seriously. She nodded reluctantly and tried to stifle a yawn. Placing the bowl on the other side of the bed, she crawled behind him and curled up on the bed, probably trying to catch some sleep.

‘You’re a good friend, Billy Bones,’ she murmured, barely awake anymore. He looked behind him at the little bundle all curled up, and couldn’t suppress the smile appearing on his face. Looking out at the window, he waited for Miss Guthrie’s men to come.


	7. You don’t have to stay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble written on the prompt 'You don’t have to stay'.

As she towered over her dead husband’s body, she tried to suppress the laughter desperately bubbling up in her throat. Anne Bonny was not happy. She merely had that feeling where mirth comes knocking at the most inappropriate times. She’d had it at her mother’s funeral, as well as at the moment she’d stabbed her maid and best friend which nearly got that girl killed, as well as at the moment she’d set her father’s house on fire. Only now the Calico pirate was standing right behind her, refraining her from just letting it all go — both the tears and giggles. She probably appeared manic enough to him as it was — blood spluttered on her face and drenched in her dress and coat. She still needed him, he was her passage out of the shithole in which she’d found herself stranded. Scaring him away was not an option.

Taking in the corpse, she barely recognized James in what was left of it. One blow of the axe had been enough to kill him, but a sudden rage had taken a hold on her, which had made it impossible to stop. A rage not necessarily directed at him — he’d done nothing wrong after all, though he’d never bothered to make things right again either — but a rage she felt for her father, her maids, her friend giving James Bonny the eye, back when they were still children, the man who’d once tried to force himself onto her, a rage at the entire world for messing up her life so badly, she even felt the need to have a laugh over her husband’s corpse.

Rage for her mother. She simply shouldn’t have died.

She’d loved him. She’d loved him with as much affection as a sixteen year old naive girl’s heart could muster. Perhaps she still did, otherwise the tears wouldn’t be stinging her eyes and the giggle wouldn’t be on the verge of escaping her throat. But it was better this way. To start with a clean slate. All ties to her life before becoming Anne Bonny the pirate, severed.

'Miss Bonny?'

Her mind barely registered the question, her senses still clouded with rage, sadness, fear, manic joy and excitement. It wasn’t until Rackham put a gentle hand on her shoulder, that she was shaken out of her reverie. He slid off her dirty coat and let it drop to the floor. The hairs on her arms rose, but she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was from the sudden chill or from the shock. Finally able to tear her eyes away from the sight, she focussed them on Jack instead, noticing he was taking off his own jacket.

Jack Rackham. Infamous for sailing under Nassau’s Butcher, and well-known for his extravagant taste in fashion and women. Rumours had it he’d bedded England’s Virgin Queen, but Anne regarded them for what they were — simply rumours. She couldn’t imagine a man with Jack Rackham’s looks to have seduced a woman of such high standing. But then again, the man had a way of talking that could probably charm his way into a nun’s heart.

He’d basically frolicked into her husband’s pub and her life, flaunting towards her in that typical manner of his. One wine, please, he’d said. And a chat with the lovely lass if she wouldn’t mind. He never got his chat. But when the night came to an end and the customers stumbled out of the pub one by one, he’d remained. And when he finally managed to catch her gaze, he tilted his glass towards her and threw a playful smirk her way. A silent promise of so much more than James Bonny’s obedient lady of the house. And just like that, she’d found herself enamoured with the Calico pirate.

As he wrapped her tiny frame in his coat, she felt her fear making place for a feeling of safety. As if all troubles melted with one simple embrace. She didn’t love Jack Rackham, she concluded as she clutched the hem of his coat and wrapped it tighter around her body. She did however love the idea of Jack Rackham and all that he represented — adventure, extravagance, royalty, freedom. And luck. Sheer, utter luck. He’d told her of all the times he’d found himself in terribly precarious situations, yet he still lived to recount the tales. She could certainly use a sliver of his luck.

As he fiddled with an embroidered handkerchief he’d pulled out of his pocket, she contemplated she could probably love him as a person as well. He wasn’t your typical buff man, but he had a mind capable of challenging hers, which certainly pleased her. But as he brought the fancy piece of cloth towards her face and ever so gently wiped away the droplets of blood, she convinced herself to never let it come that far. She’d loved James Bonny, and look where that had gotten him.

Love was simply out of the question for someone like Anne Bonny.

'I'm sorry it came to this,' he said sincerely, landing his eyes on the corpse. Not a hint of revulsion could be spotted in his eyes, as he'd probably had his fair share of disgusting sights himself. Anne shook her head.

'Simply a burden less to carry,' she shrugged carelessly, pretending the whole issue didn't bother her as much as it really did. He smiled sympathetically, placed his hand on her lower back and led her back to the pub.

He’d followed her into her bedroom, even after she’d insisted she no longer needed his help. But finding it tremendously difficult to unlace her corset with trembling hands, she appeared to be in need of his help after all. He pushed her hands away and smoothly unlaced the corset, as if he’d done it a million times before. Having shared a bed together already, she felt no shame letting her bloodied dress fall to the ground. Yet Jack was polite enough to turn around as she put on one of James’ oversized shirts to sleep in.

'You don't have to stay,' Anne muttered as she fiddled nervously with the hem of the shirt, avoiding his gaze when he looked her way again. He placed his tricorn hat on the commode and moved towards Anne, tugging at her shirt to pull her body closer to his.

'Nonsense,' he smirked playfully, then decided to bury his head in her neck. 'Now that I finally have you all to myself,' he breathed in her scent.

She knew Jack had become quite fond of her, and was keen to show that fondness through kisses and hugs. But while most of the time his affections made her feel uncomfortable, his embrace now felt nice. Welcoming.

As he planted a soft kiss on her jaw, she knew he wanted to try and relief her distress through sex. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t in the mood, but typically no coherent words seemed to form in her mind. So she simply put her tiny hands around his body and nestled her head in his chest. She felt him freezing at the contact, probably taken by surprise.

'Anne, darling?' He inquired, slight amusement resonating in his voice. She simply tightened her grip, hoping he'd understand it was all she needed right now. His uneasiness only lasted for a heartbeat, as she soon found his body relaxing again and felt him planting a soft kiss on the top of her head.

'Let's get you into bed, shall we?'

She nodded against his chest, finally releasing him and moving away to lay down in her bed. Jack followed close behind and was the one to tuck her into the covers. He sat down on the floor right next to where she was laying, placing his arms cross on the bed and leaning his head on top of them, intent on staying at least until she was fast asleep. She looked at him from underneath her covers, eyes gleaming with eagerness. At that he scrunched his eyebrows and tilted his head to the right, telling her she’d piqued his curiosity.

'I'm excited, Jack,' she murmured in her blanket, but her round cheeks betrayed her hidden smile.

'You're putting quite some pressure on my shoulders, love,' he returned the smile. 'You have quite high expectations of a life at sea.'

'Are they not justified, then?' He saw her smile falter, all of her excitement making way for doubt. Jack didn't like it. Moving closer to her face, he pushed away her blanket so he could see her entire face.

'I assure you,' he whispered, looking down at her lips, eager to see them curve again. 'That we'll be the ones sailing eternally. When all of the world withers, we will remain. Kings of this world and the ones beyond.'

Her eyes lit up and a dreamy smile reappeared. The innocence reminiscent of a child could not be missed — so hungry she was for these stories he eagerly fed her. Anything to keep her interested. To keep her with him.

'You and I. And all the rest is rendered insignificant.'

Anne loved the sound of that, but pushed the tingling feeling bubbling up inside her tummy aside. Freedom came first, and while she’d come to like Jack a lot, even he wouldn’t be allowed to compromise that. She’d done it once, and she learned from it.

'But first, we'll sleep. Even future kings need their rest,' he concluded.

The excitement made it hard for her to fall asleep, but at least her thoughts had managed to focus on anything but her dead husband. The last thing she remembered before closing her tired eyes, were the colourful rings on Jack’s hands, fantasizing about where he’d gotten each and every one and imagining she’d been there herself. She was happy to know it wouldn’t be too long before she’d go there as well.


	8. Look at me - just breathe, okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble inspired by the prompt 'Look at me - just breathe, okay?'.

Everything around Rackham blurred, as red faded into blue and blue into black. For a moment, he fancied himself in one of Poussin’s paintings, of which he’d had the privilege to witness one in person. He reminisced the peculiar memory — dressed up as a bishop in France’s high court by orders of Vane. Their mission had been far from fruitless, as the King’s royal treasure had helped them immensely with buying their own ship. He was pulled back into the present as vane smacked him on the chest.

'Rackham, focus!' he yelled as he fired another shot into the abyss. Rackham had never liked raids, you simply never knew whether you were shooting at the enemy or at a comrade. His captain pushed him out of the way and disappeared into the blur, punching a youngster unconscious in the meantime.

He searched the place for Anne, intent on convincing her to leave this slaughtering and head for safer grounds. Her pride wouldn’t let her of course, preferring to fight the battle, but he’d drag her away if necessary. Turning around, he heard a man yelling his way, meaning to strike him with his axe. But before the man could strike his blow, Jack shot him right between the eyes, killing him instantly. You could say a lot about the Calico pirate, but his aim was impeccable.

He headed towards the place he’d last seen her, hoping she hadn’t strayed too far. A trail of terribly maimed corpses told him she hadn’t, so he moved forward, expecting to find her torturing some poor lad.

The last state he’d expected to find Anne Bonny in, was lying on the ground, defeated. He came to a stop, and his heart skipped a beat as the ground sank away from underneath his feet. He found himself glued to the ground, unable to move. No, he thougt. No no no no no, not her. Please not her. Only the timid rising of her chest shook him out of his paralysis and urged him to dash towards her. Crouching next to her, he moved her up and made her lean against a fallen barrel.

'Darling?' He gently patted her face to see whether or not she was unconscious. It wouldn't be unlikely, considering her terribly ragged breathing and the amount of blood that stained her and the ground. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, but she didn't seem to have the strenght to look up at him. Forcing her to meet his eyes, he pushed her head up, gently running a trembling thumb over her lip, wiping away a trickle of blood. The moment Jack came into her view, her eyes threatened to spill over with tears, before her pride stopped them. Even with him, and even hardly conscious, she wouldn't allow herself to seem weak.

'It's nothing.' She'd meant for it to come out fiercely, but all she managed was a whimper. Her bloodied hand clutched onto the hilt of what Rackham presumed was a dagger sticking out of the side of her stomach, causing the bloodbath around them.

'Oh, darling.' He pressed a quick kiss on her bloody temple, knowing she wouldn't appreciate any sentimentalities at a time like this. He hadn't expected her to put her trembling hand on his cheek. 'If you're smart, you'd leave this hellhole now.'

'Oh, don't be morbid,' he reprimanded, his voice suddenly oozing with that typical confidence of his, indirectly assuring her that he'd get her out of here alive. Any other scenario was out of the question.

'In for a quick fuck?' He asked her playfully as he moved away from her and struggled to remove the expensive leather belt around his waist. The trembling of his hands betrayed how terrified Jack really felt beneath his cocky self-confidence, and it almost made Anne frown. She decided not to mention it, instead smirked and muttered groggily how she wouldn't mind dying like that.

'You're high on adrenaline,' Jack grumbled, finally having removed his belt. Her shock-induced state was probably the last thing keeping her alive — there was simply too much blood and the dagger reached so deep. 'Bite on this for me, will you?' he asked her gently.

'Not your belt,' she shook her head, just barely. 'You like it so — '

He cut her off and placed the leather between her teeth anyway, not having the patience to argue with her. Her frown increased, probably dawning on her that his intention was to remove the dagger.

'I'd rather you let it sit — '

She cried out in pain as Jack removed the dagger with one quick, sufficient tug. Leaning forward, she let her head fall into his shoulder, hoping to find some relief of the pain that had suddenly washed over her. Jack searched for the small bottle of rum he kept in one of his pockets, hoping to desinfect the wound as much as possible.

'This is gonna sting,' he warned her matter-of-factly, before pouring the contents over the deep cut the dagger had caused, causing her to cry out more. She pinched his arm so hard, he feared he'd be left with bruises. At one point, she must have discarded his belt and instead opted to bite down her anger and pain on the fabric of his vest, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

'That must've washed away the adrenaline,' he concluded as he ripped a big piece of fabric from his vest and pressed it firmly against the cut, hoping to stop the bleeding.

'Fuck!' she cried out in frustration, clearly not having any of it.

'And with it the absence of pain,' he added, unnerved by the fabric already drenched in blood. This was bad. Pulling her up with him, he felt her tense completely.

'I can't…' she groaned, completely leaning on him for support. He cast the now crimson cloth aside and clumsily took off his vest, instead pressing that onto the gash. Her breathing became more irregular, and he feared time was playing games with him, feeling her slip away with the second.

'Darling?' She groaned in response, exhausted. 'Look at me — just breathe, okay?' Reluctantly, she obeyed, nodding as a tear or two mingled in with the smears of blood on her face. Hoisting her up in his arms, he ordered her to press onto the fabric as hard as she could.

'Your life depends on it, you hear me?'

Again the reluctant nod, accompanied by a dissatisfied frown.

A final kiss on the top of her head, and they both escaped from hell and Death’s eager embrace.

\- x -

Six days she kept him waiting. As stubborn as ever, even when she didn’t have a say in it. Jack was grateful that he’d insisted on recruiting an outstanding medic. He was worth every penny they paid him — ensuring that injured men were taken care of. Ensuring that she survived wounds less skilfull medics would’ve considered too severe.

The first two days were spent within a 30 centimetre radius of her, until Vane barged in and dragged Rackham away from her bedside, and into the kitchen. Can’t have my quartermaster dying, he’d said. Not now we’re so close to getting that treasure.

The third day was spent in church, a place he only dared pollute with his presence because of her. Rackham was not a religious man, or you wouldn’t find him plundering his way through life. But even he sometimes doubted to what extent faith was placed in the hands of a supreme entity. He was welcomed with open arms by a plump little nun that vaguely reminded him of his grandmother. She’d pushed a rosary into his hands, told him to pray for his girl and promised she’d do the same.

The headache and pain Anne woke up to, made her grunt in anger. A stabbing feeling in the side of her stomach made her remember the fight, the dagger in her stomach and Rackham pulling it out. Thinking of him, her heart rate sped up in worry. Frantically looking around the dark room, only illuminated by the moon outside, she found his presence slumped over her legs, clutching into a rosary. The sight had her want to cry, but instead she reached out with what little might she had and brushed his hair aside. The slightest touch had him awake immediately. The rosary was cast aside and all of his attention was on her instead.

'Darling,' he sighed, relief resonating in his voice. He took her trembling hand away from his face and kissed her bruised knuckles. 'Took you long enough.'

Despite her best effort not to, she smiled tenderly. He told her to go back to sleep, that she needed her rest.

'I'm not tired,' she murmured. 'Tell me a story.'

It reminded him of the days before she’d joined him in piracy, and had begged him for stories about the sea. So he settled down next to her and kept her awake all night with stories of his childhood.


End file.
